Don't Read Much; Hurts My Brain Part I

About a month and a half ago, I was dinking around 'in a seaside town they forgot to close down' in the southwest of England known as Poole. Walking around, checking out the town but it's March in England which means it's freezing cold. I head over to the Poole Museum (get me a little culture and some warmth) but the Museum was closed. Then what to my freezing eyes did appear, but a sign saying I could go around to the back entrance (shut it, i.e., no comments about the use of 'back entrance' people). I go inside and it's the Poole Museum library; a lovely library with a librarian who takes one look at me and says 'Here you go, love, we'll set you up with some books with pictures that you can look at.' She continues, 'There are loads of really nice pictures in here of Poole.' Thankfully, there were not many words in the books to confuse me (or to explain what the pictures meant), but I learned all about (ok saw) Poole through the ages -- The entire time silently giggling to myself and wondering if I look like a ninny or if she was like this with all library patrons.